Whitefeather's Woman. Deborah Hale

sweet dry hay mingled with the musk of horses and leather. The contrast to Emery’s overpowering pomade comforted her somehow.

      Why had John Whitefeather not mentioned he was related to the Kincaids? And what had prompted him to intercede on her behalf? Jane had lived too long and been hurt too often not to question his motives. She knew from bitter experience the danger of fraternizing with a member of her employer’s family.

      Not that such a thing was apt to happen in her case. For all she knew, John Whitefeather might be happily married, though his sister’s comment about the foreman’s cabin made Jane doubt it. Even if he was a bachelor, such a handsome man must have plenty of ladies waiting at his beck and call. What interest would he have in some mousey, penniless hired girl from the East? None at all, Jane insisted to herself as her cracked ribs began to ache.

      Or was it, perhaps, her heart?

      “I swear I could see her heart thumping.” John shook his head, recalling the spectacle of Miss Jane Harris venturing into the Double Deuce Saloon. “Like a rabbit come calling in a coyotes’ den.”

      Caleb Kincaid threw back his tawny head and let out a whoop of laughter. “I’ll bet a few of those hungry coyotes were licking their chops, all right! She could be a fetching little filly if she didn’t look like she just lost a barroom brawl.”

      Somehow the thought of those cowboys at the Double Deuce casting hungry eyes over Miss Harris sobered John’s mood of levity. He didn’t reckon he had any call to make fun of the lady. She’d shown some backbone traipsing into a tough spot like the Double Deuce to find him. The fact that she’d done what she had to in spite of her obvious fear kindled a grudging glimmer of respect in him.

      As far as John Whitefeather was concerned, that was the true mark of courage.

      “What do you reckon brought her all the way out here, from Boston?” he asked, as much to himself as to Caleb. The woman was a bundle of mysteries and contradictions, all of which intrigued John too much for his liking.

      Caleb Kincaid took a long draw on his pipe, as if the tobacco smoke fueled his thoughts. “Could be most anything. Maybe she got itchy feet and figured Montana would be a big adventure. Or she might have read about the gold fields and figured this was prime hunting ground for a rich husband.”

      John shook his head slowly. Neither of these guesses tallied with what he’d so far experienced of Miss Jane Harris. Not that he had much practice with women, but he knew enough of men and horses to recognize a look of desperation when he saw it.

      “I got the feeling she wouldn’t be in Montana if she had a choice.”

      Caleb mulled that over for a long, silent moment. “Think she might be on the run from the law? Maybe I ought to send a wire to the police in Boston. Don’t want some criminal taking care of my boys, no matter how good-looking she is.”

      For no good reason that John could figure, his brother-in-law’s words provoked him. He responded in a sharper tone than he intended. “How come you’re so set on thinking the worst of this poor gal, Caleb? I can’t picture her getting up the gumption to do anything against the law.”

      Caleb replied with a smug, mocking smile that John wanted to wipe off his face—by force if necessary. “How come you’re so set on defending her? That’s a far more entertaining question, if you ask me.”

      “I didn’t ask.” John rose abruptly from the table. “Can’t sit around jawing with you all night. Got to work some more on that little maverick filly tomorrow. Maybe she got to missing me while I was gone today, and she’ll be ready to make friends.”

      As he fetched his hat and coat from the hook by the door, his brother-in-law rose and stretched. “Always plenty to do, is right. A man needs to grab his sleep when he’s got a soft, warm bed.”

      He ambled over to the stove, lifted the lid off the firebox and knocked the ashes from his pipe into it.

      “Be careful around this little maverick filly, John.” Caleb nodded upward to signal that he meant Jane Harris. “I’ve got a bad feeling about her. Reminds me of Zeke’s mama, God rest her soul. She just wasn’t fit for this kind of life, and she made the boy and me miserable for a long spell before and after she died. I don’t know what would have become of us if Ruth hadn’t come back into my life again when she did.”

      The rancher’s rugged features softened and his wary tone warmed as he spoke of his wife.

      John knew how many years his sister had quietly suffered, her heart held captive by a married man who couldn’t claim her. One of his greatest joys in life was to see her so happy and fulfilled in her union with Caleb Kincaid. Part of him envied what Ruth and Caleb had together, while another part shied from going after it himself. Every moment of happiness they enjoyed now had cost them a matching moment of pain.

      Besides, a wife was a responsibility, and he already had more than enough responsibility for the folks at Sweetgrass. One day, perhaps, if he found a woman capable of easing his burdens, rather than adding to them, he might be willing to gamble his heart and his hard-won peace of spirit.

      “Save your warning, Caleb.” John jammed on his hat and pulled open the kitchen door. “Once I delivered Jane Harris to the ranch, my obligation and my interest both ended. Even if I was fool enough to hanker after her, you never saw the way she looked at me in town today. I reckon the lady would sooner be courted by a grizzly.”

      Caleb’s husky laughter followed him out into the night.

      Though the clean, still air was chilly for late May, John didn’t bother to put on his coat for his short saunter from the Kincaids’ kitchen door to the foreman’s cabin, where he spent his nights.

      In the distance, lights flickered from the windows of the cowboys’ bunkhouse. The sounds of talk, laughter and the plaintive croon of a harmonica spilled out into the night. John knew if he set foot inside, the music and gossip would stop and the cowboys would hit their bunks, where they belonged. Tonight he didn’t have the heart to interrupt their fun.

      He hesitated at the door of his cabin, a refuge of solitude between the homey bustle of Ruth and Caleb’s place and the bachelor commotion of the bunkhouse.

      Overhead, the wide, black Montana sky glittered with a mother lode of tiny silver nuggets—calm and beautiful, but also distant and cold. For the first time since coming to the Kincaid ranch, over a year ago, John Whitefeather went to bed in a foreman’s cabin that felt lonesome and empty.

      Chapter Three

      “Indispensable. In-dispensable.” Over and over, Jane muttered the word to herself as she confronted her first day of provisional employment.

      To her surprise, she’d slept deeply and peacefully, untroubled by nightmares of Emery hunting her down. Between Mrs. Kincaid’s pungent salves and the healing night’s rest, Jane did not wince too painfully at the sight of her face in the oval looking glass above the bureau.

      A soft knock on the door made her jump. Her newfound sense of security must not run very deep, after all.

      “W-who is it?”

      “It’s Ruth, Miss Harris. I heard you stirring and thought I should bring you some clean clothes.”

      Jane pulled open the door. “That’s very kind of you.”

      Expecting only Ruth, she started at the sight of a boy, nine or ten years old. If he was home from school, this must be Saturday. Jane realized she’d lost track of the days during her exhausting journey west from Boston.

      If she noticed Jane’s jumpiness, the rancher’s wife gave no sign. “Jane Harris, this is Zeke, Caleb’s son. He helped me bring down this trunk of clothes from the attic. They belonged to his mother and they’re too small for me. They might fit you until we can make some new ones.”

      “Thank you.” Jane looked from the trunk to Zeke Kincaid. “If it’ll upset you to see me wearing clothes that belonged to your mother,